


believe, believe

by thingsyoumissed (orphan_account)



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:05:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thingsyoumissed





	believe, believe

"Do you ever feel like there were some songs we never played?" he asks Spencer one afternoon, as they lay on the living room floor, listening to one of Ryan's old Elvis records on the turntable. He has a whole collection of albums, they line an entire span of bookshelves in alphabetical order, underneath Spencer's business textbooks. 

"You can still play them, Ryan," Spencer replies, moving his foot in time with the music. 

"But you understand, right?"

"Yeah." Spencer wiggles close enough to jam an elbow into Ryan's side. "You could always be the world's oldest prodigy," he says dryly, "and apply to Juilliard."

Ryan rolls his eyes. Brendon had called last week to say that he had, at twenty-six, been accepted into Juilliard. He'd never told them he had applied in the first place. "And hey, I'll be closer to you guys, so maybe I can get there to visit more often," he'd said, and neither Ryan nor Spencer had the heart to tell him that any free time he might have when classes started would probably be taken up by piano practice. 

"We could always be the ones to go and visit," Spencer says now, like he's reading Ryan's thoughts. 

"I don't know, I think I've had enough of Brendon to last me a lifetime by now," Ryan replies, turning his face towards Spencer so Spencer can see that for the most part, he's not being serious. He's really just not excited about the prospect of the long drive, going into the city. He likes this life he's built here with Spencer, out here on the coast, away from all the hurry up and wait, from all the noise, from all the demands of their former lives. 

Spencer grins back and Ryan's stomach does a slow roll that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with love. He can still remember being thirteen and thinking that when he grew up, he wanted nothing more than for Spencer to be there always - being that age where your best friend is the only person you want to spend your time with, as if you could hang out in the park and skateboard around the block forever. 

Somehow (he still hasn't figured out how), he'd gotten his wish. He'd moved out here when everything had dissolved, when the band has just come apart at the seams, melting out of cohesiveness into four people who were just _tired_. And Spencer had followed three months later, once his divorce was final, moving first into Ryan's spare bedroom and then into Ryan's bed. It was big enough, and Spencer - Spencer, of all people - had said, "I can't sleep alone anymore. Can I sleep with you?", and Ryan had just slid over to make room.

He'd been dating a girl in town at the time, but he'd cooled things down dramatically after that, afraid that not only would she be unable to understand, but also that she'd be unable to keep a secret if offered enough money. People were still being offered money to tell their secrets. Ryan never could wrap his head around it - "the band is over," he'd complained to Jon on the phone one night, after narrowly avoiding a photographer who'd found out which house was his. "Why do they still care?"

"Someone will always care," Jon had replied. Ryan could heard his kids talking excitedly in the background. "Especially when there's a way to make money off of it."

Ryan reaches across the floor and finds Spencer's hand, hooks their pinkies together. "So?" Spencer asks.

"What was the question?"

"The songs you still want to write. You should write them."

"That wasn't really what I was talking about."

Spencer rolls onto his side, props himself up on his elbow. "I know what you're talking about, but it's not going to happen. At least, not for another couple of years," he adds. "Since you know Jon won't let Emma and Maddy out of his sight until they hit high school, at least. But you should send your lyrics to Brendon, Ry." Ryan feels his mouth tighten and Spencer leans over, pressing a thumb hard to his cheek. "Smile, you jerk," Spencer says. "I know about your little notebook; you're horrible at keeping a secret."

"But -"

"It would be the next best thing," Spencer cuts him off, his eyes serious. "And you know it, Ross."

Ryan sighs. Spencer's right. He'd kept a notebook hidden (or not so hidden, apparently) since before the band broke up. It wasn't like he'd been able to turn off his brain when there was no longer someone there to sing his words the way they were meant to be sung. "Maybe," he says finally. 

Spencer checks his watch and rolls to his feet. "Class," he says as he moves. "Group chat I can't miss."

Ryan nods, sitting up. Spencer offers him a hand and he takes it, firm and warm. It's something he'll never turn down. Spencer reaches out, tugs on his hair, then goes into the study. Ryan turns to the stairs, to find Brendon's email address and retrieve his notebook from underneath Spencer's side of the bed.


End file.
